


What a Noble Should be

by snomrights



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snomrights/pseuds/snomrights
Summary: While understanding and exploring his feelings for Ferdinand, Hubert discovers that he unintentionally fell in love with his wing-man along the way (and just maybe... they all fall in love with each other... wouldn't that be nice).
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Linhardt von Hevring, Linhardt von Hevring/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Observation

Ferdinand was a noble and eldest son of Duke Aegir. He was, in a way, rebellious. He was well liked but quick to bite on quarrels and sharp in his beliefs - and, while he made it a point to honor nobility, he inadvertently rejected it entirely. He had a large heart and fought against corruption of any kind, but he also had a naivety to him. Hubert found something about Ferdinand irresistible. With every cruel word Hubert spat at him, Ferdinand remained resilient. The two were often at each other's throats, much to their peers’ annoyance, but any time Hubert had the chance to exchange glares with the shorter man lit a fire in him. 

Recently, Hubert had adopted a new habit. He was used to keeping tabs on his house members, religiously observing their movements and routines, and keeping an exhaustive index on their whereabouts. It was always for the sake of keeping those around him safe - however - he recently himself watching for his own personal satisfaction, the target being Ferdinand. 

Sometimes Hubert would watch him from across the grand hall. Ferdinand would smile like the sun, glowing with excitement and energy with each word he uttered. He was always surrounded by others, mouths full of laughter at something he had said. The light cinnamon freckles framed by his angelic golden locks danced as he spoke. Hubert immersed himself in Ferdinand’s angelical beauty, his essence warm and sweet like summer and honey. 

Other times Hubert resorted to visiting the stables in the evening. He had no business there, but he yearned for the chance to lay eyes upon his new interest. From behind the corner he would gaze, stomach in knots every time Ferdinand passed by. He did not care if onlookers saw, they would just assume it was Hubert lurking once again - he was safe from suspicion. 

Hubert was certain that he despised this man. The need to keep watch over Ferdinand must have stemmed from this anger, the butterflies from suspicion, and the obsession from caution. Ferdinand’s perfection was justified by the fact that he was hiding something, and Hubert had simply taken it upon himself to get to the bottom of it. Eventually, the frequency of Hubert’s practice grew alongside his confidence. He could never forgive himself if he were to miss the second that Ferdinand decided to step out of line; so, no longer from across the room or in a well-hidden alcove, Hubert tread closer. He was close enough to smell the leather and southern fruit blend tea that lingered on Ferdinand’s clothes. 

_ Creak.  _

“Hubert! Just the terrifying man who I was looking for,” Ferdinand sneered, strutting up to his former classmate. With each step his hair bounced delicately over his shoulders, sending anxious trembles up Hubert’s spine.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert growled through gritted teeth, fumbling on the clasps of his leather gloves.

“As much as a displeasure it is to talk with you, I misplaced my maintenance oil and was wondering if you had seen it?”

“Ferdinand, why would I be responsible for this?”

“Well, I only asked considering your alarmingly accurate skills in knowing everybody’s business; however, if you don’t have any intention of being pleasant, I will go,” Ferdinand turned away with spite. 

“Wait-” Hubert muttered, feeling his hand outreach to the shorter man, fingers meeting each other. Ferdinand looked down - confusion with a hint of disgust painted his expression. However, a mix of another strange emotion was clear through the light flush that appeared on the apples of his cheeks, “you left it at the stables last evening, by the bridle rack.”

“Well, I uhm, I guess I was right about you being a little too into other’s business,” Ferdinand swiped his hand away and held his arms tightly to his sides, his cheeks still warm and dusted rose. 

“Did you not want to find your maintenance oil?” Hubert asked shyly as he stepped back. He just processed that he had held Ferdinand a little too close and wanted to ensure Ferdinand hadn’t thought anything of it. 

“No, I did - I… I’m sorry. Thank you,” Ferdinand stumbled over his words. The two stood in silence for a second, gazes never quite meeting, “Hubert?”

“Yes?”

“Shall I repay you some other time for your help… maybe over some tea?” Ferdinand murmured bashfully. For someone who shone like the sun, he was all too quick to fall embarrassed at the awkward doings of Hubert. 

“I’d like that,” Hubert kicked himself for replying. Even though he hated Ferdinand, something drew him into adoring being around him. Maybe he could work out his confusion over a warm cup of tea, specifically with the man who made him feel the strange way that he did. 

With his back slightly hunched, Hubert hurriedly turned away and strode at a much quicker pace than his usual sulking. Hubert’s thoughts raced as he felt a long breath escape across his lips - he was going to sit down with Ferdinand for tea, but for the first time as friends. The way Ferdinand had such a complete hold over him was mesmerizing - each tremble of his heart mirroring his echoing steps. 

Arriving back at his room, Hubert unlocked and opened his chill alder wood door. The scent of cinnamon saturated the air, escaping briefly into the hall as Hubert slipped inside. His room was dark and stuffy with tightly shut windows, but simultaneously neat. Everything was tucked right into place - sheets perfectly made and not a single book out of place. 

Hubert scurried to his window and brushed the dust off of the old and disregarded panes. He cautiously pushed on the cool glass that contrasted the warmth of his room, allowing for a pleasant breeze to meet him. It was calming, sharp, and refreshing. Hubert rarely felt the need to simply sit and absorb the fresh air all alone; however, this was the perfect remedy for his panic.

He stood there for some time, only recovering from his daydream once he noticed that it had become night. The moon shifted across the sky as stars danced above him.

_ I must truly hate this man.  _

Ferdinand was confident, opinionated, and strong - not to mention captivating. While his words displeased some, he remained grounded in his emotions.  _ That is what a noble should be _ . Then, why did he find Ferdinand so annoying? Was it his disobedience? Hubert’s thoughts became heavy, lending him to believe that now would be the best time to wind down for the evening. 

Closing the window, Hubert organized his clothes and blew out the candles that laced his room. He positioned himself in bed, mattress stiff but welcoming, as his breathing began to slow. He lay on his back with his muscles tense and hands folded harshly over his stomach, waiting for the night to take him. 

His eyes fluttered, eventually closing for momentary peace; but, his brief serenity came to an immediate halt when his mind raced back the events of earlier that day. Though his lids were shut, Ferdinand gleamed in his mind as rich as the sun beams that slipped through the stained glass in the cathedral. He could not shake the image of Ferdinand’s laugh out of his head. Was the man he hated so much sneering at him, or expressing genuine joy and warmth? Hubert’s eyes shot open, displeased by his wandering mind. 

He angrily turned over, readjusting his sheets around him. When his eyes dragged to a close once more, the vile man was still waiting for him. Once again, Ferdinand was glowing a heavy gold and deep red - like bewitching candlelight, splintering amber rays caught in the velvet curtains of a silent room. Hubert grew more furious than restless. 

He sat up briskly and turned his attention to the door. It was late in the evening and he was certain that none of his classmates were awake. Maybe a stroll around the monastery would clear his mind, and he could pick up a book to divert his attention on the way. Something light yet indulgent, enough to distract but still hold his interest at the same time. 

Hubert peeled the heavy blanket off of himself and slipped into a pleasantly snug and casual outfit. It was not as refined as his normal attire but sufficient - if anyone happened to see him they would not presume it to be nightwear. He adjusted his tousled hair and prodded at the bags that boarded his eyes, and swiftly departed his room.


	2. Candlelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert makes the fatal mistake of visiting the library late at night to take his mind off of his crush, Ferdinand - and he works though his feelings with the very sarcastic and lethargic Linhardt.

With a gained mastery of slithering through quiet spaces undetected, Hubert made his way unseen throughout the monastery. The grand hall that was usually so busy was now empty, not a single pointless blabber to be heard. He strode through passage-ways and wooden stairs until he arrived at his intended destination.

The library is even more quiet at night. Its tall oak shelves that were doused in the smell of parchment and ink loomed in the darkness. All tables appeared to be empty, and Hubert began to peruse the bookcases. Thick novels full of history and war coated the shelves, each one greatly dis-interesting and bland to Hubert. When he approached the great staircase, he noticed a faint light emitting from behind it. On further examination, Hubert groaned with great displeasure. 

Linhardt sat at a dimly lit table with strands of hair finely draped over his features. He blew a stray lock away and annoyance painted his face. His blue eyes were squinted and cool in the dark behind the thin glass of readers, book attentively in hand. Hubert quietly shifted towards the single beacon of candlelight that framed the room. The books that laced the walls were a dark chocolate, and blended effortlessly with the greens on Linhardt’s tunic - earthy and grounded- but simultaneously had a chill airiness to it that manifested in Linhardt’s knowledge and sarcasm. 

Approaching the solitary man, Hubert was mindful to announce his presence. He should have walked away and found another place to clear his mind, but something drew him to investigate. It was no surprise to anyone that Linhardt would be in the library at this hour; however, Hubert still felt the responsibility to keep watch on everyone’s behavior. 

Pulling out a chair with a loud creak, Hubert sat down swiftly. With his right hand he nudged the extensive pile of books that Linhardt had accumulated onto the table. Linhardt was not secretive in his active effort to ignore Hubert - he hummed, yawned, stretched, and continuously ignored the groans of the disheveled man across from him. 

“Linhardt,” Hubert whispered, desperation and embarrassment wavering his speech. Linhardt did not raise his eyes from the worn hardcover that he was immersed in, in fact, Linhardt did not move an inch. Hubert knew dismissal when he saw it. 

“Linhardt,” Hubert repeated himself sharply.

“What do you want?” Linhardt muttered lazily, still focused on his book. 

“What do you know… about romance.”

Suddenly, Linhardt had something more entertaining than his book to tear apart with his eyes, and he refocused his attention to Hubert. He squinted and inflicted a mocking gaze, “what brings you to ask me?”

Hubert waivered, his response delayed and tentative. The library was certainly not full of students; however, he couldn’t help feeling that he could be overheard; “well,” he swallowed, “you seem to be doing alright with Caspar.”

“If you really think I am an expert at romance because of him then you are sorely mistaken,” Linhardt chuckled, eyes darting back to the page, “anyways, we broke up.” The space between them converted back to a momentary silence, Linhardt no longer caring to hear what Hubert had to say and Hubert too flustered to allow himself another word. 

“I also ask because you… have a way with words” Hubert spoke through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, was that a compliment?” Linhardt halfheartedly hummed, “if so, I’d like to hear it again.”

“I despise you,” Hubert’s annoyance was expressed by his stern stare, “In any case, I am sure there are some resources in here that could be to my aid, some sort of novel - or manuscript?”

With his legs delicately crossed, Lindhardt licked his finger and flipped a crisp page with a lazy sigh. It was calculatedly pathetic, purposefully tormenting Hubert’s vulnerability. The click of his tongue lightly echoed throughout the library as he muttered, “you can’t write love, Hubert.” 

Hubert tensed.  _ This is not about love. _

“But, if you are keen on being this persistent - here” Linhardt reached into the pile aside from him, pulling out a novel. It’s binding was torn and the leather that coated it’s parchment had not been properly cared for, perhaps why it was falling apart now. Embossed in a mossy green on the cover read  _ All Hope is Lost. _

“Linhardt, I don’t recommend playing your silly games. I am not a fool,” Hubert demanded with his impatience rising. 

“By the way, who has you so utterly wrapped around their finger that you are up at 3am researching how to hold a simple conversation?” Linhardt teased with another flip of a page. 

“That is not important,” Hubert blushed. 

“I think it is. Have you ever had a conversation with this mystery individual?” Linhardt refused. Linhardt was smart and knew how to prowl with his words. If he asked something of someone he usually got his way. 

“One.”

“You’re pathetic” Linhardt sneered much too loudly, “well, what did you talk about.”

He hesitated, unsure if he should elaborate any further. If Linhardt were to connect the dots Hubert would never hear the end of it; however, Hubert desperately needed someone to confide in, “I found an item of his, and he offered to repay me over tea.”

“Repay you,” Linhardt curled his lip, “and only after one conversation.”

Hubert blushed a deep crimson. He was furious at Linhardt for suggesting such an explicit situation, “Is that what you’re mind is constantly on, Linhardt” he snapped with his jaw clenched and shaking. 

“It seems I’ve struck a nerve,” Linhardt mocked, chuckling to himself. Hubert was easy to prod and upset and Linhardt made full use of it. 

“Linhardt, I need honest advice,” Hubert breathed, letting Linhardt win. 

“Alright, tell me who this mystery man is, and then I’ll help.”

Hubert paused, if he were to admit his true feelings to Linhardt there would be no going back. There would be no more denial, excuses, or doubts - Hubert loved Ferdinand, and he knew this for some time.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert finally whispered. 

“What? Say it again, I didn’t hear you,” Linhardt’s eyes squinted.  The little rise in the corner of his mouth and his tilted head drained every ounce of dignity that Hubert had remaining. 

“Ferdinand,” Hubert repeated, “It’s Ferdinand.”

“I thought the two of you hated each other; however, I won't say I’m surprised. You know, constantly being at each other’s throats isn’t the best way at hiding tension.”

“I don’t know why I even asked for your help,” Hubert retorted, palm meeting his sharp temples. Linhardt never helped anyone without his own advantage and welfare in mind; however, Linhardt now appeared lost in thought. His brows sharpened and he removed his glasses while his smirk shifted into a deep frown.

Suddenly, Linhardt’s eyes started to twinkle, “Hubert, follow me. I have an idea.” Linhardt rose, securing the iron candle holder that sat in front of them. Hubert followed, accompanying the tired man with caution. The small flame illuminated the faded bindings as Linhardt browsed each section with determination painting his face. 

Eventually settling on a collection in the farthest right of the library, Linhardt elaborated, “if I was going out for tea, I would want someone to cook for me. Find out what sweets he likes and make them.”

“He likes sweat buns,” Hubert replied much too readily.

“He told you?”

Hubert looked down, he had only known this from observing Ferdinand in the dining hall. Whenever Ferdinand was stressed or upset, there was nothing that could cure his sour mood quicker than the soft pastries. Hubert decided it was best not to reply to this question. 

“That is so rich,” Linhardt mocked, fingers glossing over the spines of various recipe books. Though he teased Hubert relentlessly, he took pity in the form of extending effort to provide help and advice for the lovestruck man. Eventually, his hands settled on a thinly bound book. Pulling it from the shelf with a hum, Linhardt began to smoothly flip through the parchment in search of the best recipe. Hubert loomed over Linhardt’s left shoulder, watching curiously and attentively. Even if Linhardt were to find the correct procedure, Hubert was unsure if he would have the skill to prepare it to Ferdinand’s picky standards. 

“Here,” Linhardt spoke, pointing to a page with thinly scribbled ingredients, “this is the best one.”

Linhardt passed Hubert the cookbook and Hubert cradled it delicately as he deciphered the strange code.  _ How does one fold dough?  _ With a furrowed brow, he turned to face Linhardt in confusion, “would you mind helping me bake?”

“Certainly I would mind- I’m not as easy as Ferdinand,” Linhardt scolded. However, upon observing Hubert’s distraught face, he rephrased: “well, I can write down the steps more simply for you, but baking would require effort.”

Hubert nodded, “thank you,” he sighed. 

“I’ll bring it by your room tomorrow,” Linhardt yawned, “my bed is simply calling me now.”

Hubert and Linhardt took a second as flame flickered to observe the dark bags under each other's eyes. The simple act of considerate thought had drained Linhardt, and his thoughts grew incoherent. Shoulder against the wall and eyes flickering in the darkness, Linhardt gave into exhaustion, his head landing right into Hubert’s chest. 

Hubert stepped back in surprise, reaching his arms out to support Linhardt by the shoulders, “Lin,” Hubert scholded sharply in an attempt to wake him. 

Linhardt’s eyes fluttered barely open to look up at Hubert, 

“You must get a grip over a proper sleep schedule, and please try to stand up on your own,”

“Well, if we are listing things that we need to work on your list is far more extensive,” Linhardt began to shift back upright. 

“Excuse me?”

“You are emotionally constipated, Hubert,” Linhardt groaned. 

Hubert had not prepared for such an outrageous phrase. At once, he was struck with insult as he recoiled, “and how so?” Hubert scoffed in defense. 

“You know, talking to Ferdinand and others about this would be a lot easier if you just said what you wanted. You tend to be perfectly able to order us around, but insecure when it comes to your own emotions. Do something for yourself, you might find that you like it,” Linhardt scolded, eyes becoming heavy once more. 

“If you doze off again I will let you fall this time. That is how I feel.”

“I don’t care, but at least think about what I said,” Linhardt hummed, “and I’ll stop bothering you for now.” Linhardt handed Hubert the candle with a dramatic exhale and sulked back towards his buried table, Neglecting to pick up his messy pile of books, Linhardt collected his glasses and wandered out of the library.

“I’ll be surprised if he makes it all the way back to his room,” Hubert grumbled to himself. Even though Hubert loathed Linhardt’s laziness and sarcasm, he genuinely appreciated Linhardt’s help - even if he struggled to express it.

Hubert glanced down at his book; he still did not understand most of the steps, however, he revealed in the intricate art that embellished the age. Depicted in red ink was a dainty sketch of three sweet buns displayed thoughtfully on a dish. Hubert moped,  _ I hope Ferdinand likes them _ . He knew he could never shake Ferdinand off of his mind, at least not for the night - but now he was no longer lost and alone. He had some semblance of a plan. Tomorrow, he would find Ferdinand - or, at least find someone to find Ferdinand - and settle on a time for tea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this fic so far please leave kudos/comment <3 I'll try to start regularly updating this fic, so stay tuned... I have many chapters planned >:3c


End file.
